Illya convinced Napoleon to come upstairs to drink his coffee sitting in the air conditioned bedroom instead of remaining in the stifling heat downstairs while he showered and dressed for the office, but Solo opted to lean in the bathroom doorway talking to the Russian while he bathed.
"So what did you do with the cat?"
"Boris is visiting with the neighbors." Illya called, rinsing the soap from his hair, "and will be quite content to be overfed by them.
As far as the neighbors were concerned, Illya and Elliott were Eli and Elise Manning and their son's name was Damien, all formerly of Great Britain. It was all part of the cover process that UN.C.L.E. had developed for agents that were married.
Spouses and children added complications to an already dangerous life. Thrush thus far had no made attempt to involve the husbands, wives and families of their enemies' agents but it was safer to err on the side of caution and not to assume that would remain the case. Agents who had their own homes such as the Kuryakins were brought under this grid of protection.
They received no mail at their residence, all of it was forwarded to headquarters. And the families lived under assumed identities, keeping their true names secret. Easy for the parents, but not always easy for the child. Demya was exceptional at obeying his parents, especially his father.
The problem of the children of operatives attending school had yet to be addressed. Demya Kuryakin was still too young for that, but he like his parents would be the first involved in ground-breaking policy for UNCLE. Alexander Waverly had proposed private schooling for such children,possibly offering it to the extended family of operatives such as nieces and nephews. It was in the developmental stages, having been one of the topics addressed at the last Summit meeting in Europe.
Napoleon swallowed another gulp of his beverage, still not feeling that cool. " You know you could have bought a bigger air conditioner, what were you being cheap again?"
"I was not being cheap nor frugal," Illya answered as he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a bath towel from the the hook and drying himself vigorously with it. "This was the only size they had left in the the appliance store as there has been a run on them...gee I wonder why?"
"Don't get your nose all out of joint, I was just asking? So was it deshyvka?" He teased Illya again with a bit of Russian.
"Like hell you were, you were accusing me of being cheap again. And it was not a bargain, it was quite dear actually."
"Well you are?
"Skryaga_a skinflint, that is what you are calling me." Illya feigned insult, "When are you going to learn the difference between someone who is cheap from someone who is frugal?"
"Neither one likes to spend money, what's the difference?" he chuckled.
Illya wrapped the towel around his waist leaning against the sink as he lathered his face to shave, choosing not to counter Napoleon's banter, thus ending the discussion.
A be-mused Solo studied his partner's familiar scarred torso, noticing that his profile looked fuller that usual.
"You have a gut!" he blurted out." I can't believe it tovarisch, you've gained weight? After all these years, it's finally catching up with you. Napoleon seemed almost smug about it after watching his partner pack away food year after year without so much as gaining an ounce, while he always had to watch what he ate.
"Napoleon, when will you understand that people such as myself need to eat more and frequently?I have a higher metabolic rate and therefore need to consume greater calories to fuel my body than you!"
Illya looked down with one of his crooked smiles, patting his stomach."Yes I suppose I finally have? But this is due to partaking with Elliott's in her late night cravings. At least," he mused, " she has desired things that are edible and not that pickles and ice cream myth that one hears so much about. It has been too bloody hot to exercise, but a week of swimming in the ocean will take care of this...tell me, Bella has had no such cravings?"
"Nope not a one," Napoleon lied through his teeth, not wanting to admit to his late night shopping trips to find pickles and ice cream for his wife. And not just any pickles, they had to be half sour Kosher pickles to accompany Rocky Road ice cream. The combination made him cringe. That was one snack he would not join in on.
The two agents arrived with time to spare at headquarters, finding the conditions there barely tolerable. The air conditioning was running at full capacity but doing little good as it was in sore need of maintenance, the week long heat wave having stressed the system to it's limits. The brown-outs and blackouts that the city was experiencing were at least not affecting the building as the backup generators would kick in when there was a change in the power.
To make matters worse, accounting was rearing it's ugly head, forcing parts of headquarters to be shut down to conserve operating costs that were going through the roof with the constant running of the air conditioning. They deemed it mandatory that the thermostats be set at 78 degrees, but that did not take into affect the extreme humidity and made conditions very uncomfortable.
"Of all times for them to be pulling this crap," Napoleon grumbled, pulling his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his brow as he and Illya walked towards Waverly's office.
Napoleon was as usual, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, Illya was wearing a grey suit for a change with a dark blue short sleeved polo shirt. Both men hoped that once in the meeting that the old man would relax the dress code and allow them to at least remove their jackets.
The Russian looked up from the file he had been glancing at, adjusting his tinted glassed on the bridge of his nose.
"At least we will have a week at the beach with our families. That will surely be better than being here in this pressure cooker of a city will it not?"
Though Kuryakin was not a fan of sun and sand in the summer time, it was preferable to being in the city at the moment. If anything he liked to visit the beaches in the late fall. The cooler water temperatures were a delight to him, having been accustomed to the frigid temperatures of the Dnieper and Volga rivers back in the Soviet Union. Though his wife would always remind him how he used up all their hot water when taking a shower, even though it gave her a good excuse to step into it with Illya more often than not. Steaming hot showers, especially with his wife were his bit of decadence.
Napoleon, loved sailing on the water and just the opposite of his partner; he hated to swim; that being the remnant of a childhood accident where he nearly drowned in the lake up at the family cabin in the Catskills region of New York.
He paused as he adjusted his tie just as the pneumatic doors opened silently to the inner-sanctum that was Alexander Waverly's conference room.
"Ah Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin please be seated, we're just waiting for Mr. Dennell to arrive and we can begin our briefing. You may feel free to remove your jackets if you wish." The Old Man extinguished his pipe, laying in the crystal ash tray near his console. "I swear those confounded accountants would have us roast to death in this God-awful weather if they had their ways? The devil with this, costs be damned. Mr. Solo if you would be so good as to lower the thermostat please, at least for the duration of our meeting?"
"My pleasure sir," he smiled happily, still removing his suit jacket.
George Dennell rushed in; apologizing profusely, having assumed he was late again. Once he and the other section heads were assembled; Waverly began his briefing beginning with field assignment updates. The only departments chiefs not present were security and enforcement/intelligence.
Bob Thorensen head of section VI was off to a meeting in Washington, and Elliott Kuryakin the chief of section III was on early maternity leave. Her assistant Patrick Krupinski was in attendance in her stead.
"I will attempt to keep this as brief as possible gentlemen, although we do have quite a bit to cover, as I am aware that some of you would like to begin your well-deserved vacations out of this city?" The Old Man actually cracked a smile, Solo and Kuryakin trying to hide theirs in the process, hoping the meeting would be short as Waverly promised.
Three hours later they finally broke for lunch, but it was a working one as Tille, Illya's friend and head of the commissary brought in a cart, serving their food there rather than having everyone go their separate ways.
"At least we can count on Tillie to serve us a good meal" Illya whispered to Napoleon as he dug into a second helping of apple strudel.
"Keep up that pace and Max Schneider is going to order you on a diet?"Napoleon jabbed, passing regrettably on desert.
Illya grinned at him and for once it was Solo rolling his eyes and not his Russian partner.
After lunch the so-called brief meeting recommenced, dragging on even longer. Napoleon looked at his watch, noting that it had now turned into a five hour meeting and didn't look to be ending anytime soon as some vultures from accounting had arrived to lecture on cutting costs in the field.
Illya, who was known for taking copious amounts of notes, was writing in Cyrillic and it didn't look like anything related to cost over runs as Solo spotted a mathematical formula in between the Russian characters.
"What is that?" he leaned over, whispering to his partner.
"Oh the formula for the air speed velocity of a fully unladen swallow." Illya answered completely deadpan, repeating a line that Mark Slate had heard in a Cambridge Footlights review when home in England.
"European of African?"
Illya shot him a surprised look at his partner's unexpected bit of trivial knowledge, since that was usually the Russian's purview, then realized Napoleon probability heard the same comedic story from Slate.
"Gotcha" Napoleon mouthed the word to him while making a face.
"Excuse me gentlemen, but if you have something constructive to contribute we'd appreciate hearing it?" Waverly asked them.
They both lowered their eyes, having been properly cut down to size with the man's chastisement.
It was now four o'clock in the afternoon when the conference room doors opened and Lisa Rogers walked in; a grave look upon her face.
"Excuse me for interrupting Mr. Waverly, but I have an outside call for Mr. Kuryakin?"
"Miss Rogers, we were not to be disturbed, " Waverly huffed.
"I'm sorry sir but it's an urgent call," she said apologetically.
"Fine fine, you may take it on my private line Mr. Kuryakin." Even Waverly was beginning to become tired of the day's proceedings. He flicked a switch on his console transferring the call to his line.
Illya picked up the receiver. "Mr. Kuryakin speaking. Yes, yes she is. No." Several seconds passed without Illya saying another thing until he blurted out one more word, "What?"
Napoleon watched his partner turn as white as a ghost, then dropping the phone; he took off out the door.
Solo grabbed the receiver. "Hello hello," said a woman's voice on the other end. "Yes?" Napoleon responded.
"Yes Mr. Kuryakin as I said your wife was in a car accident and is going to need surgery. I would advise you get here immediately as there is a concern for the baby. We found your business card in her purse and..."
"Yes what hospital did you say again?" he asked.
"Why Jersey Shore Medical...wait a minute, is this Mr. Kuryakin?"
"Yes thank you." Napoleon hung up the phone.
Alexander Waverly alerted security to stop his number two agent from leaving the building, holding him at the Del Floria's exit until the head of medical Dr. Max Schnieder and Solo arrived, joining him for the trip to the hospital located not far from the coast in central New Jersey.